


A Case of Cardinal Sin

by Rejuvenescenceia



Series: Wicked Games - A Sherlock Holmes AU [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sherlock Holmes AU, Domestic, F/F, F/M, M/M, Minor Violence, Murder Mystery, Original Character Death(s), Sherlock Jesse McCree, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Gabriel Reyes/Jesse McCree, Watson Gabriel Reyes, minor gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2020-12-20 17:08:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21060182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rejuvenescenceia/pseuds/Rejuvenescenceia
Summary: Gabriel Reyes is returning to his life after a debilitating injury while he served in the Marines. While he's struggling to find peace as a civilian, a meeting with his goddaughter Fareeha Amari puts him into proximity with Jesse McCree, a consultant for the LAPD with a dark past. Together, the two of them work to find an escalating serial killer.





	1. Chemical Reaction

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I haven't written in some time, but this has been my project for a few months now. I was watching Sherlock Holmes and remembered Jesse's Sherlock skin, and things spun from there until this universe opened up for me. I won't pretend to be a masterful mystery writer, but I will attempt to make this fun. And, if you are more intimately familiar with the inner workings of American police departments and forensics, try to suspend some belief XD
> 
> Special thank-you to my official butt-fire-lighter, beta reader, and bouncer-of-ideas, ao3 writer Demidea, and another special thank-you to my beta reader and bouncer-of-ideas, ao3 writer WigglySniffer.
> 
> As a caution to those of you coming to read, It will become McReyes eventually. Please note they are meeting each other for the first time as adults in this fic, and their ages aren't directly reflective of Canon, but few ages in this fic are, and are gently turned to suit real life historical events. If you do not approve of the pairing, please give this story a miss.
> 
> Updates (should) be every Wednesday. Each fic will be a part of the Wicked Games series (which will also include one-shots).
> 
> Enjoy!

It was hot, causing perspiration to break out over the back of Gabriel’s neck and drip down to his collar. Nearby he could hear someone muttering in Spanish. Nonsense, at least to an outsider. To Gabriel, it was just another confirmation that he was still in hell and only the scenery had changed. 

When he looked up he saw rows of heads all staring towards the man speaking, all of their attentions focused like it was a briefing. He was almost surprised that it wasn’t men on parade watching their CO give them some new death and dismemberment talk. The humidity reminded him of the jungle, but instead it was just too many bodies into a small room that smelled like coffee and humanity.

He looked back down at his hands, feeling tired. His coffee cup was empty on the floor, and he thought about reaching down to pick it up, to have something to shred, but remembering what his therapist in DC had said about the gesture he’d recently acquired made him instead ball his fist and rock it back and forth to try and calm his nerves. Despite the nagging from multiple people, Gabriel hadn’t found a new one in Los Angeles. He had a slowly growing collection of business cards other people gave him, which at least meant he’d never run out of bookmarks.

Someone coughed, the sound making him reflexively look up again into the crowd. He was a row out from the inside of the share circle. There were too many damn people to have just one ring of sad fucks telling their story. Gabriel wondered how many stories it had been, how many times he’d been forced to clap and mutter a toneless congratulations.  _ It has to be almost time to leave, right? _

As if synched with his thoughts, people around him started to clap, and Gabe slapped his palms together in two dry hits before gripping the handle of his cane again.

“...Would any of our brothers or sisters who haven’t shared yet like an opportunity?”

Gabriel kept his eyes down at his hands. He just had to get through a few more minutes, another story the  _ exact same _ as every other story. 

A nudge at his side made him look over sharply. Someone he recognized but didn’t know, just another guy who blended into the background. Another veteran. “What?” he muttered.

“Just thought you’d like to share,” they replied.

Gabriel mustered up a dark glare that only got worse when the man who had been speaking cleared his throat. “You don’t have to be shy.”

He thought about saying nothing, but instead he grunted. “Not today.”

“Alright. Just remember you’re among friends here.”

_ Yeah, right. _ He offered a terse nod and the speaker picked someone else who stood up and introduced himself. Gabriel didn’t even have it in him to tonelessly chant hello as his left hand trembled. 

Once it was over he hauled himself up to limp over to the coffee pot for a quick taste of the dregs to get him going. His hand was still shaking somewhat as he pulled the lever on the urn and filled a cup with the sludge.

He longed for and missed routine. This new one he’d adopted, with its meetings and stale donuts, his walks around an unfamiliar neighborhood, his nights full of loud shrieks and screams and children's programming… this wasn’t what he’d planned for. But what he thought he’d have hadn’t exactly worked out either.

“That looks disgusting.”

He snapped his head up at the sound of a woman’s voice, not because he was surprised but for a moment it sounded like  _ hers, _ and when he met the eyes of its owner for a second it was her as well. The same right-side dimple, same hair, same amused expression in her eyes. But then he smiled and let out a breath, setting the cup down. Not Ana.

“Fareeha. What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting at that coffee shop.”

“I know, but I googled meetings around your place and figured you’d be here, thought I’d offer a ride.”

“That’s stalking.”

“I’m a detective, it’s okay.”

He snorted, holding out his arm as he braced against his cane. “C’mere, kid.”

“I missed you, Papi.”

Gabriel pulled her into a tight hug, kissing her temple. “I missed you, Ree. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to come out here.”

“Are you here for awhile or just a visit?”

“I’m home permanently,” he replied. “I was going to tell you when I came to meet you.”

She looked troubled at that, and he knew why, but didn’t mention it as they climbed the steps out of the church basement. The odor of the bodies and the bad coffee gave way to the scent of stagnant air and incense. Just the smell alone threatened to put Gabriel into another foul mood, and he hurried to get out despite the ache in his leg.

Outside it was almost as hot as the basement, and the noise from the nearby busy street filled his ears. A few people milled on the lawn smoking cigarettes, which put Gabriel in want of one, but Fareeha tugged on his arm and gestured to her car, a maroon Dodge Charger.

“You know that’s pretty obviously a police car,” he said. 

“It’s almost like it’s an occupational hazard,” she replied.

It was clean inside and smelled like Fareeha’s perfume. As he settled he checked his phone on reflex, to see if Mariana wanted him to bring home anything, but it wasn’t a text from her.

**[SMS from: ** Jack **] ** How was group?

Gabriel sighed and shoved his phone away.

“Problem?”

“Nope,” he lied. “So I hope this coffee place is good, but after that slop I just drank I imagine anything is.”

Fareeha laughed as she pulled out. “Yeah, it’s good.”

When they got to the cafe Gabriel picked a spot outside on the patio so he could feel the wind on his face. Gabriel wasn’t used to being cooped up in buildings, and since being discharged he felt like that was all he had. The house, a church basement, a bar, a Walmart if he was feeling ambitious. Being outside was the best escape he had, and he enjoyed every moment of it, watching the world around him as Fareeha went in to order them a few coffees. 

He’d honestly never expected to settle down in Los Angeles. It felt surreal, like a visit, as he looked up at the tall buildings and thought about all the people scurrying along in their invisible islands. Gabriel had thought DC, or even his service, would be more permanent.

_ Well fuck me I guess, _ he thought, trying to control the shake in his hand. 

The door opened with a reflection of light of the glass and Gabriel looked up to see his god daughter walking over with two paper cups and a paper bag of something. She looked so much like Ana, and so little like the little girl he’d known, it was still staggering. But Gabriel supposed he couldn’t be the only one getting old now.

“You look good,” he said, taking his paper cup. The coffee certainly smelled better than the stuff in the church basement.

“Well thank-you, I try,” she said. 

“You look like your mother more and more every day.”

Fareeha didn’t reply at once, the look in her eyes distant as she fiddled with the lid of her cup. Ana had been gone a few years now due to an incident in the military, and Gabriel wished he hadn’t said anything.

“Thank-you,” she said. “I’m sure she’d tease you about gray hair.”

“Oh I’m damn sure she would too.” He sipped his coffee, burning his tongue at once and making a face. “Well, at least I know they serve it proper temperature here.”

Fareeha snorted. “It’s good, just let it cool. I didn’t think you’d like iced.”

“You’re not wrong.”

There was a moment of quiet between them. Gabriel hoped there wouldn’t be too many uncomfortable silences coming up in the near future, but it seemed to punctuate his interactions with most people lately. It was easier to just… be quiet.

“How’s Los Angeles treating you?”

There was plenty of shit he could say. The day before a backfiring car had sent him into a panic attack while he’d been limping around the block for a walk, and his sisters kids were driving him crazy. He was caught between being miserable about being home and being happy about it. Knowing his _abuelita_ wasn’t here anymore to welcome him back though dulled any happy homecoming he might have had.

“It’s fine I guess. Getting used to the big city again.”

“Right… guess it’s pretty different from… sorry, where were you stationed?”

“I was in Washington DC,” he said, looking at the street. “Marines are based there. I started my rehab there after they patched me up.”

“Have you spoken to Jack much?”

“No.” He said that a little less nicely, as he watched a car double park and wait for a pick up. “I know he’s your boss and all, but I’m not really ready to talk to him.”

“Sorry.”

He sighed. “It’s alright. I’d rather just bottle that shit up for now.” Noticing Fareeha looked crestfallen, he decided to press on. She almost felt like a kid caught in a divorce, even though he and Jack had split up years ago. “The kids are loud, but I guess I’m getting used to them. It kind of sucks, though. I’m still in my niece’s room until they work something out. It’s weird sleeping with Pinky Pie or whatever it’s called staring at you.”

Fareeha snorted as she blew on her cup. To her credit, she didn’t ask why he hadn’t taken Jack’s offer for a room. “What about your own place?”

“On a military pension? In LA? I guess if I want to live in a refrigerator box...” 

“Fair enough,” she said, before she smiled like she’d heard an inside joke. Gabriel wished he knew what was so funny. “What about a room share?”

“Yeah, I’m sure there are plenty of people lining up to have a crazy asshole like me for a roommate.” He paused, watching her grin get wider. “What?”

“What if I told you that someone was talking today about needing a roomie that would have to put up with him?”

Gabriel turned his cup on the glass table top, spreading a thin tan ring. He wasn’t sure if this sounded too good to be true, or absolutely terrible, but if Fareeha was bringing it up the guy couldn’t be  _ completely _ crazy. “I’d say get me a meet up.”

Fareeha pulled out her phone. “He should still be working… guess this means I can give you a tour of my job.”

***

He’d expected to go to the LAPD Headquarters, but Fareeha took him to a rather ugly sort of grey building downtown. He signed in as a guest as Fareeha flashed her detective’s shield to get through security, and Gabriel suffered a pat down before getting to move on. 

“This is the building where our Forensics examinations and autopsies are performed,” explained Fareeha, pushing a button to call the elevator. “The morgue is in the basement. Don’t worry, he’s not down there right now.”

_ Right now? God, don’t let him be a mortician. _ Gabriel wasn’t sure if he could live with someone who chose a career path involving regularly gutting their patients… if you could call them patients. 

“What sort of man is he?”

“Uh… I’ll let you see for yourself.”

Gabriel didn’t like the sound of that, but he was already here, so he let Fareeha guide him into the elevator, fortunately empty of other people. 

Fareeha lead him down a long hall to a lab filled with things Gabriel couldn’t even think to name. He whistled as he looked at some of the equipment, doubting he was far off the mark by assuming it was top of the line. “Some fancy shit in here. My  _ abuelita  _ loved CSI, she’d have gone crazy to be in here and have a look around.”

Fareeha laughed. “We have all the toys, don’t we Jesse?”

Gabriel craned his head around and wondered how he’d missed the man at the table. He was bent over a microscope, an honest to god cowboy hat set to one side, with hair that was a little shaggy and loose around his ears. 

“You’ve got some,” he replied. His voice was deep and even, and a bit distracted. Southern, but Gabriel couldn’t place where. After a moment the man sat up and looked between Fareeha and Gabriel, though his eyes lingered on Gabriel a little longer than he’d have liked. “Fareeha, you got your phone on you?”

“Out of battery,” she said apologetically.

“Damn.”

Gabriel considered it a moment, then pulled his phone out of his pocket and held it out. “Use mine.”

Jesse smiled and stood. “Thank you kindly.”

Southern all the way. The man was big and broad, fit. He wore denim and plaid and honest to god cowboy boots, and Gabriel for the life of him couldn’t imagine a less likely person working in a forensics lab. It seemed like a joke in a cop show. Handsome hick cowboy is actually a brainiac science geek.

Jesse took the phone and glanced at Gabriel again. Gabriel wished he’d hidden the notification of the text, but Jesse swiped it aside and wrote out the text to the new contact. 

“So. Whereabouts in the Middle East were you stationed?” asked Jesse as he finished the text and handed the phone back.

Gabriel frowned. “Excuse me?”

“Sorry. Just curious.”

He glanced at Fareeha, wondering if she’d mentioned something to the man, and she just smiled like she was witnessing a very funny joke. It left Gabriel all the more irritated, but he decided not to press how this Jesse person knew. 

“Syria,” he said after a moment. 

Jesse went back to his microscope and began to clean up his work. “So I take it you’re Fareeha’s other godfather then?”

“She mentioned me?”

“Not really,” he said, cracking his neck. “I tend to be up late most nights. Don’t really sleep much, I’m a bit of an insomniac. And I play the guitar when I need to think, but you don’t look like a guy who’d be bothered by the guitar. D’you like dogs? I’ve always kind of wanted a dog. Cats are okay too. Better listeners than dogs.”

Gabriel blinked, then looked at Fareeha, who was snickering about something. “I like them fine. Why-”

Jesse raised an eyebrow. “Because you’re here to rent an apartment with me. Well, condo. I found a nice place, though the neighborhood isn’t great. Didn’t think I could rent it on my own, but with your help I could.”

Gabriel snorted. “So Fareeha texted you.”

“Nope,” he said. “It’s just a funny coincidence is all. The day I’m complaining to her about needing a roommate she brings in a man she trusts to meet me here.”

Gabriel couldn’t decide if he was impressed by the continuous correct guesses or if he was angry by them. At least, though, the man didn’t seem to be there to rub it in anyone’s face. “I never said I was going to look at an apartment with you.”

Jesse stood, putting on his cowboy hat. “Well I mean, you don’t have to. But it’s a pretty solid option if you’d rather not keep living with family. You seem like a private man. Sorry, don’t mean to be rude.”

“Well you managed it anyway.”

Jesse just smiled. “My name’s Jesse McCree. I’ll try to keep my trap shut next time, as it tends to get me in trouble.The address is 221 Baker St, we’ll be up in apartment B. You have a good day, Detective Amari.”

“You too, Jesse.”

The door swung shut and McCree was gone, whistling ‘Country Roads’ as he walked down the hall.

Gabriel frowned. “What the hell was all that?”

Fareeha shrugged. “Honestly? When you meet him tomorrow, ask for an explanation. It’s easier than me telling you. But as a warning, he’s usually like that.”

Gabriel started walking to the door. “Tell me you’re not dating him.”

Fareeha chuckled. “Have no fear on that one. I’m still seeing the doctor I told you about.”

“Right, right…”

***

Fareeha dropped Gabriel off at his sister’s townhouse. He wished his goddaughter goodbye and waved her off before limping to the gate. His head was full of the idea of an oxycontin and a long nap, but when he touched the gate he paused, looking through the front window. 

His brother-in-law was there, arms full of kids - the two boys on one side, the eldest girl on the other - and everyone was shrieking and laughing loud enough to carry out the storm door in the front. Mariana was filming it, a wide and brilliant smile on her face. Dinner would be on and they’d all squeeze around his  _ abuelita’s _ old and massive wood table that didn’t fit in the dining room and say grace.

Looking down, Gabriel tried to steady his left hand, before he let go of the gate and began to make his way down the sidewalk away from the house. 

The neighborhood wasn’t great. It reminded Gabriel of when they’d been children, he and Mariana running around with the other kids before heading home to their abuelita’s. The sidewalks were full of toys, kids screamed on the lawns, shot water guns at each other, rode their bikes. Too many dogs barking. Too many boomboxes playing music too loud.

_ You fought for this, _ he tried to remind himself as he moved as quickly as he could.  _ This is what you wanted. _

The bar he was starting to become a fixture at was a five minute walk on a good day. That day it took closer to ten, and his knee was screaming at him by the time he limped through the door and into the shady interior.

He wanted a booth, but they were full with folks done with their workday, which meant he had to struggle up onto a barstool. It was at least mostly empty, and he chose a seat where the next person was a pretty black woman by herself, several spots away.

Even though the bit of money he received from the government didn’t cover much he ordered a Tecate and a shot of tequila before pulling the peanut bowl over.

“Getting into it early, Gabe?” asked the bartender, a pretty Mexican girl whose name he still didn’t know. “How’s the leg?”

“Damn my fucking leg,” he growled. 

_ “Lo siento.  _ I’ll keep them coming.”

Gabriel took a pull of his beer, feeling guilty but not enough to apologize. Mariana would be texting him any minute now for supper. When he went, she’d ask him if he called the latest psychologist yet and set up a meeting. He’d try to be happy while the kids shrieked and complained at each other and told him about their day.

The beer hit the bartop with a heavy click. He had to stop the thinking before it got bad, before he had to call for a ride for a ten minute walk home. 

His thoughts turned to Jesse McCree instead. Enigmatic cowboy genius. When he’d asked Fareeha about him, pressed her for information, she’d told him he was a ‘detective consultant,’ whatever that meant. 

Remembering the text he pulled out his phone to take a look. There was another message from Jack asking why he’d sent his last message and frowned, opening it at once. Jesse had been texting  _ Jack. _ And hadn’t even fucking blinked an eye over that. 

**[SMS to: ** Jack **] ** If the maid recently bought a goose, lean on the maid - JM

**[SMS from:** Jack **] ** Why did I just get a text from Jesse McCree from your phone number

Gabriel smirked. He had no idea what exactly the context was of that message he’d sent, but if Gabriel was right Jack was not pleased about it, and just about the only thing that could cheer Gabriel up was finally seeing Jack’s veneer crack.

**[SMS to: ** Jack **] ** I helped a random cowboy out in need

Deciding that would infuriate Jack even more, he tipped back his tequila shot. It was too bad smoking wasn’t allowed in bars anymore. That would taste just as good.

_ “...The Robbery-Homicide Division is working closely with Gang and Narcotics. We still haven’t discovered whether or not the string of killings is gang related, but we very much think so.” _

The voice made him look up at the TV. It was a press conference, and he recognized Jack at the table next to several others he didn’t know. “Can’t escape the devil no matter where I am… can you turn that up?”

The bartender glanced at the television before lifting the remote. 

The woman a few seats down spoke up. “Fucked up, those are. I knew one of the guys that bit it. Real quiet dude, but always polite.”

He glanced over at her, chewing. “What happened? I just got into town, so…”

“Murdered. Pretty brutal. But there’s been three others, I think? So the pigs think its gang violence, but the way they been doing it? I bet it’s a serial killer.” She said this matter of factly before she drained her vodka soda and waved for another. “They only say gang violence because most of the victims are black.”

“How is the killer doing it?” he asked.

“Strung up and displayed, I hear.”

Gabriel grunted in reply, having nothing to add. While the last bit was probably just a rumour, it certainly made his problems seem small. 

He watched the conference, eating his way through the bowl of peanuts and sipping his beer. He’d obviously been out of the loop, but this looked serious. He wondered why Fareeha didn’t bring it up, but he guessed he wouldn’t want to talk about work either. Jack looked distinctly rattled, and Gabriel supposed that was why he had so much grey in all that blond lately. 

_ I’ve been treating him like shit, _ he thought, before opening his phone to send another text.

**[SMS to: ** Jack **] ** When you can we’ll meet up. Just stop sending me links to psychologists and shit

Shoving the phone back in his pocket, Gabriel pulled his wallet and tossed some bills on the bar. He supposed it was better to call it at a two drink night anyway, before limping back to the door. Mariana had said she was making  _ tamales, _ and he guessed that was a hell of a lot better than peanuts and beer.

He wondered if his sister would be supportive or not, that he was going to look at an apartment the next day.

***

Baker Street was loud, but Gabe owed that to being close to Dodger Stadium. McCree hadn’t been lying, either. The neighborhood looked like a demilitarized zone, but it was close to transportation so Gabriel would give that a plus. Having a concealed carry permit was a nice reassurance. 

As he made his way to the front door of the brick faced building of 221 he caught a whiff of cigar smoke and saw McCree there, leaning on a bike. Gabriel whistled, getting close to it. “Is that a 1971 FX 1200 Superglide? My  _ abuelo _ owned one of them. Almost cried when he sold it.”

Jesse tilted his head, a smile on his face. “So you’re a connoisseur of bikes too, then?”

“Couldn’t tell by looking at me?”

Jesse laughed quietly. “You can’t make a very good guess on someone who hasn’t ridden in a few years. But yeah, she’s my baby. Pretty much the most valuable thing I own. S’why I like this place… there’s a good spot to lock her up out back, and CCTV if someone decides to steal my girl. Her name’s Abigail.”

When Jesse moved away from the bike Gabriel went with him, moving to the front door. It was recessed, and looked like it had once been a garage of some kind. Jesse answered the thought as he had it.

“Old commercial buildings are a pretty hot ticket item for repurposing to residential,” he said. “I know the landlord and landlady. If you don’t want your ear talked off, ask for Mrs. Lindholm. Also, if you like your parts in the right places, keep the small talk to their eldest daughter at a minimum.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Mrs. Lindholm turned out to be a pretty blonde woman with an inviting smile. She was Swedish, though her accent was a little faint, and she took them up at once, apologizing to Gabriel about the walk.

“He’ll be right as rain in no time,” said Jesse confidently. 

“What does that mean?” he asked, when they were let out of the landing and into apartment B.

Jesse didn’t answer, leaving Mrs. Lindholm to continue going over the layout. Gabriel only half paid attention as he looked about the stuffy space. There were AC units in the windows but they weren’t on, leaving it hot and dry. The space itself was wide, though, and interesting to look at, even with all the boxes of rubbish piled about. The brick walls were probably a nightmare to clean, but they looked neat enough, and there were exposed beams above. Whatever this place had been, it had a wide open concept, the kitchen merging straight with the living room, leaving the bedrooms to the rear of the apartment. The floor was a touch scuffed up, but the hardwood was a welcome change from carpet.

“And of course, Mr. Reyes, it’s ready for you whenever you want to come,” continued Mrs Lindholm.

Gabriel didn't bother asking how she knew his name. No doubt Jesse was the culprit. He nudged a box with his cane. Inside was a longhorn skull along with an old fashioned typewriter. Weird. “What about all this?”

“S’mine,” said Jesse, hanging his hat on a hook on the wall. “I banked on you wanting the place so I started bringing my things over.”

There was a gruff call from down below and Mrs. Lindholm excused herself at once, promising she’d be back right away. Once the sound of her shoes had disappeared he turned to Jesse. 

“You banked on it, huh?”

“Yeah. Figured once you’d seen the place you’d like it. They’ve got a load of kids, but Lindholm fixed the place up so you can’t really hear ‘em. And they’re giving me a good deal because I helped ‘em out with some issues with a partner of theirs who was on death row.”

“Oh. You got him off?”

“No. Made it happen quicker,” he said, leaving Gabe feeling a touch dumb struck. “Long story. So… there are three bedrooms, but I figure if we split the rent two to one, I can have the spare room. Keeps the load off you and gives me a place for my work.”

Gabriel’s hand trembled and he squeezed it into a fist a moment, trying to work everything through in his head.  _ Too fast. Too weird. _ And Jack never  _ had _ gotten back to him over McCree and his text.

“Okay, so, I know I’m here looking at this place, but I need to know more about you. Like what the fuck you do, and how you seem to know everything? Or think you do.” He practically growled the last bit out, and Jesse seemed amused by it. “We know absolutely nothing about each other, but you keep acting like we’ve known each other for years.”

The cowboy was quiet for a moment, considering what he said, before he offered an apologetic smile. “I’ve got a bad habit. I try and keep it kicked, since it pisses so many people off, but I still just have a tendency of running my mouth as if something was already said. But as for knowing you, or thinking I do…”

Tongue in cheek, Jesse glanced at the window, then straightened out. “When I talked to you yesterday, I asked where you served and you seemed upset that I assumed that, even if I assumed right.”

Gabriel nodded once, terse. He  _ had _ been wondering that.

“You’ve got second hand clothes and you still wear your combat boots. They’re shined to shit, and everything you wear is well cared for, so you know the value of your belongings. Your hair’s close cropped, and you stand up straight like someone’s got you at attention even though you’ve got a nasty limp. I’d say the limp is owed to a hit you took, but it’s mostly psychosomatic at this point and with a little therapy that’d be cleared right up. I know you’re a fairly dark skinned man, but you’re also pretty tanned, primarily on your face and hands. That makes me guess you mostly just wear long sleeves, either because you’re used to the heat or you’re hiding scars, or both. Either way pretty much everything about you screams ex military. The text from Morrison about group therapy just kind of cinched it.”

The explanation left Gabriel a little shell-shocked. That Jesse had noticed  _ so much _ of him in just a glance was unnerving. 

“Psychosomatic,” he said, without inflection, leaning more on his cane.

Jesse shrugged. “Just like in the lab, there’s plenty of chairs. You could be sitting down and resting your knee after walking from the bus stop and climbing the stairs, yet here you are, still standing up straight like the pain isn’t really bothering you.”

Gabriel’s jaw flexed. “You knew I was living with family.”

“Ex military man, probably recently discharged, and not married? Family’s a safe bet. Morrison’s not a good guess because you were ignoring texts from him. I’m going to guess you two used to be involved.”

“We served together.” He paused a moment, still trying not to grind his teeth, before he sighed. “I stayed in the Marines longer. He’d already done some schooling to become a detective, and when he had a good opportunity he left. I didn’t… bank on him running into his ex. I dunno if he did either.”

“I’m sorry. That’s rough.” Jesse really sounded like he meant it, too.

Gabriel shrugged, self conscious now. “That’s ancient history, anyway. He’s married and has his happy family. I guess I’ve just got a chip on my shoulder about accepting charity from the guy I used to fuck. I’m still surprised it bothers Fareeha, tell the truth.”

“She’s mighty fond of you both,” he said. “Don’t know  _ why, _ but - oh.”

Gabriel looked where Jesse was staring, deciding to ignore whatever the jab meant for now. There were blue and red flashing lights outside on the street. 

“Friends of yours?” Gabriel asked, making his way to the broad window to look down at the car.

“Number five,” said Jesse, before he rubbed his hands together. “Finally letting me get a proper look at it too. I hate working by remote… oh but it’s Friday, that means Hammond’s on lead for forensics, and he hates me…”

Gabriel frowned. “You mean you think that serial killer hit again?”

“Glad you think it’s a serial killer and not gang violence,” muttered Jesse. There was the sound of feet on the stairs coming up to see them. “Say… you were in the Marines. You do much time doing special ops in Central America and South America? You speak Spanish, I saw your texts were bilingual and you called your gran  _ abuelita  _ yesterday. It stands to reason they’d have wanted you down there.”

Gabriel shifted his weight. “Yeah… why do you ask?”

“You okay with dead bodies? Murder, intrigue, all that?”

For a moment Gabriel wanted to say no. He wanted to believe he really was over the war, over seeing dead people, and that he wanted to leave it all behind.

His hand was completely steady as adrenaline washed over him at the prospect of what he was about to do. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

Jesse clapped his hands. “Good. Been awhile since I’ve had a partner.”


	2. Analysis

A heavy fist knocked on the door. Jesse was busy hunting through boxes so Gabriel turned and made his way to to it, hardly feeling his knee at all thanks to the sense of excitement working his way through him. When he opened it, though, a cold wave tempered it to see who was on the other side.

“I-”

“What are _ you _ doing here?” 

He’d been okay with the idea of  _ maybe _ seeing Jack again soon, but seeing him so suddenly on the doorstep of his new place? Not exactly what he was expecting, even if he maybe should have realized he’d be seeing him at some point tonight.

“I live here,” he replied, just as hostile as Jack’s question.

The line between Jack’s eyes grew more severe as his brows pinched and he gave a furious look at Jesse that was borderline accusatory. Up close Jack’s age was even more pronounced, and Gabriel realized just how much time had passed between them, and how old they were. Jack had more gray than he’d realized in his hair, and lines around his eyes. 

After a moment of staring Jack sighed. “We’ll talk about  _ that _ later. McCree, time to move.”

“Gabe’n’I will be along in a moment,” said Jesse, standing up with a leather satchel. “I called a Lyft. Uber don’t let me use the service anymore, not since I had that car chase.”

“Gabriel and you,” repeated Jack, his tone disbelieving. “Why would I let him in my crime scene?”

“Because Hammond’s on tonight and we don’t get along. I’d rather talk to him,” he said, jerking his thumb at Gabriel as he edged past them to go down the hall. “I’m gonna get Abigail in the back. I’ll see you downstairs, Gabe. I can call you Gabe, right?”

“You already have. Three times.”

“Thanks.”

Jack was still staring at him in disbelief before he looked around, like he needed some time to process the few revelations he’d just had. Honestly, Gabriel wasn’t sure why. Beyond being a bit of a weird guy with a motormouth Jesse didn’t seem half bad. 

“Look, if you really don’t want-”

“No, I don’t want. But I also want his cooperation, so I guess that’s that,” said Jack. Everything about his posture screamed  _ aggression. _ “Why are you sharing an apartment with him?”

“Fareeha.”

Jack’s jaw flexed before he turned to walk down the stairs. “What about Mariana?”

“Yeah, because I want to sleep in my nieces room forever.”

“I offered you a place, Gabriel.”

“Because playing third wheel to you and  _ Vince _ is such a treat.”

Jack didn’t reply, but Gabriel could see the backs of his ears turn red. 

Outside the light had fallen, making the turning red and blue lights positively eerie. A glance back revealed all of the Lindholm kids - and Jesse hadn’t been lying, there was a legion of them - all pressed against the window to watch. 

Gabriel leaned against his cane, waiting for Jesse and paying the car no mind.

Jack hovered a moment, like he wanted to say something, but when Jesse appeared Jack turned and opened the cruiser door instead. Without a doubt there’d be some kind of lecture, threat, or warning in Gabriel’s future, though he wasn’t sure why. 

“Hickory and Harcourt, West Adams,” barked Jack before he slammed the door shut. With the chirp of the tires he was off, leaving Gabriel standing there with spots floating in front of his eyes.

He looked over at Jesse, who seemed completely at ease with the situation. He had his cowboy hat on and his leather jacket, and looked more like he ought to be going to a rodeo than a crime scene.

“Is he always like that nowadays?”

“Only around me, or so I’m told,” said Jesse pleasantly. “Don’t worry, if he were real pissed he would have just yelled off the hop.”

“Why do I get the feeling there’s a story here I’m really missing out on?”

Jesse just smiled before lifting his hand, waving at a new car slowing down as it approached them. “Here we are. C’mon, times wasting.”

***

Traffic was slow due to a collision, turning a sixteen minute drive into a crawl. Gabriel looked out the window, turning information over in his head. The indignation Jack had obviously felt seeing him with Jesse, his attitude to Jesse in its entirety in fact. Or the fact he had no criminology training and for some reason Jesse wanted him along for the ride all the same.

He blew out a breath, eyes slowly roaming over the other cars, pedestrians, as he tried to work out what he’d gotten himself into  _ now. _

Jesse cleared his throat and Gabriel looked over. The cowboy was staring at him, looking curious.

“What?”

“You. You’re thinking real loud.”

Gabriel snorted and looked back out the window. “I’ll try to keep it down.”

The other man chuckled. “You got questions. You  _ could _ ask em.”

For a moment Gabriel considered ignoring him just out of petulance but he  _ did _ have questions, and at least Jesse liked talking enough to hear his own voice. He’d probably answer.

“What’s the deal with you?”

“What’s what deal with me?” Jesse tilted his head, the corner of his lips raising.

“Don’t be a smart ass.”

“Short temper on you. Uh, well. I’m sure Fareeha told you what I do.”

“A detective consultant,” he replied. “I’ve never heard of someone the detectives call to  _ consult. _ ” 

“There might be more people, but so far I’m the only one I know of. But I do have my PI license if that makes you feel better.”

“Police don’t use Private Investigators,” said Gabriel. “So if you don’t work for the LAPD or the FBI or whatever, that means you’re freelance, and the police also don’t use freelancers. So what are you?”

“I do have several degrees in criminology, psychology, forensics, a bachelor of arts. I am trained.”

“Didn’t say you weren’t smart,” said Gabriel. “You telling my life story in a glance told me that much. But all those degrees don’t tell me why they use you when they have detectives on payroll.”

The other man shrugged. “When they want something solved quick they call me. Plain and simple. It’s because I’m good at what I do.”

Gabriel sighed. “Fine.”

“Problem?”

“I’m sure you’ve gathered I’ve done special operations.”

“You’re a marine,” he agreed, “and at your age and with your smarts I’d say you’re decorated.”

“It included interrogation.” He let that hang in the air for a few beats. The car filled with flashing blue and red lights as they pulled up to the unassuming townhouse they were destined for. “I know when someone’s lying. Always.”

“Hm.”

Jesse paid the Lyft driver and they got out, Gabriel at a slower pace. Fareeha was at the tape talking to a massive looking man, at least seven foot tall, with white hair. When they got closer he could hear an obvious German accent. The man looked rattled. In fact, everyone around the police tape looked rattled except for the rubberneckers who had their phones out for Facebook posterity.

The big man looked around when Jesse approached. Like Jack, he didn’t have the fondness in his eyes when he looked at Jesse the way Fareeha did, but he also didn’t have outright hostility in them either.

“You brought Gabriel?” asked Fareeha, sounding perplexed.

“Need an assistant. And he knows Central America and South America,” Jesse explained, walking under the tape when the mountain of a main lifted it. “Hurt your back again, Detective Wilhelm? Still dating the gymnast?”

Detective Wilhelm snorted with amusement. “She’s a beautiful woman. She has friends, too. I should introduce you sometime.”

“I’m not in the market. She wears a nice shade of lipstick at least.”

Fareeha tapped the side of her own neck when Wilhelm looked down at her and he grunted, wiping at the smudge. 

“So, who is this?” Wilhelm turned his gaze on Gabriel as he limped under the tape. “Last I checked you don’t have assistants or colleagues, McCree.”

“Gabriel Reyes,” he said, offering his hand, which was enveloped by Wilhelm’s massive fingers. “I’m basically a stray dog that followed him home.”

“I am Detective Reinhardt Wilhelm. Call me Reinhardt.” He sighed heavily. “The body is inside.”

Jesse was already up at the front doors and Gabriel followed. The townhouse itself was a tripleplex, and this one was the corner lot. The one in the middle had dark windows and a for sale sign on it, with weeds and long grass starting to take it over. However, the victim’s home was neat and tidy, if boring and without personality. There were a few well trimmed manzanitas, and on the small porch there was a welcome mat and a single wrapped newspaper.

Waiting for them at the door, however, was a little person who was staring up at Jesse with intense dislike. He had sandy coloured hair cut to a fine fuzz all around his head and was wearing a modified Tyvek suit and nitrile gloves. 

“This is my crime scene. Don’t you dare muck it up, McCree,” the little person growled, his voice a touch high. 

“Always a pleasure to see you too, Hammond.”

Hammond turned his glare on Gabriel, which became puzzlement. “Who the hell is this guy?”

“Friend.”

_ “Friend.” _

Jesse waved Gabriel along, cutting that conversation short as Gabriel added yet another person to the mental list of people who apparently hated Jesse McCree. The living room was busy, with a few people wearing Tyvek suits as they examined things. Jack was there as well talking with a pretty black woman with white hair. He wondered if it was genetic, or if she just liked the look. He was willing to bet it was the former, considering she was probably a detective. When she turned to look at them he noticed her eyes were a shocking shade of blue.

“Commander Morrison, Captain Sojourn,” said Jesse.

Jack looked resentful. Apparently the twenty five or so minutes he’d had to stew over this hadn’t changed his mind about things, but at least he looked less angry and more stressed in general. “Victim’s upstairs. Suit up. And ditch the hat.”

“Yes sir.”

Gabriel went to the table with folded suits and gloves, wondering why he was here. A glance at Jesse showed him looking around at his surroundings and Gabriel wondered what the place looked like to McCree. Gabriel saw a boring house, when he looked around. Art on the walls that belonged in a hotel room, simple furniture. The most personality came from a DVD collection under the television.

Jesse was up the stairs quicker than Gabriel, who had to struggle the paper coveralls on over his bum leg. The woman, Captain Sojourn, hovered curiously at his side.

“Jack told me who you are,” she said. Her voice was strong, putting him in mind of commanders he’d had over the years. “But honestly I can’t figure out why you’re here.”

“Makes two of us. I think he just wants me to talk at,” said Gabriel.

“Well.. that  _ does _ sound like him.”

The hallway was unremarkable, the walls as grey as the carpet. Upstairs there were people looking in the bedrooms, the bathroom, but a splash of colour caught Gabriel’s eye as he went into the master bedroom and froze.

He was used to blood. He’d seen it more than his fair share of times. In the field he’d helped stabilize plenty of people who’d lost a limb or been hit by a bullet or were in an accident or fire. This was something else entirely.

Jesse stood in the middle of the room, his order from Jack about his hat ignored, frozen in place as his eyes roamed over the blood patterns on the walls and carpets. The victim was on the bed, arms spread as though he were crucified. Above him the word  _ Revancha _ had been painted in blood on the wall.

“Holy shit.” His heart was pumping, but the excitement that had hit him before at the prospect of some new kind of adventure was mixed with a sort of dread. 

Jesse tilted his head, his hand coming up to mimic holding something. He was staring at the ground, stepping carefully, visualizing, before he began to stab. His motions were fast and brutal, alternating between swings and thrusts, before he stopped over the deepest pool of crimson soaked carpet, fist shaking as he ‘drove’ the knife into an unseen victim. The sight was both hypnotizing and a little frightening. The look on Jesse’s face was intense, almost angry, as though he were channeling the man who did this.

And just as quickly, Jesse’s face went blank and neutral again as he stood up straight. “You can come in, Gabe.”

Gabriel swallowed. Captain Sojourn and the forensics guy, Hammond, were behind him. He distinctly heard Hammond say, in a voice not meant as a whisper, “freak.”

The room had a scent Gabriel hadn’t realized he’d ever smell again. Death, blood. Insides. Something else, too. The sharpness of a chemical cleaner, perhaps from the master bath. 

“This is fucking horrifying.”

“It is,” said Jesse. “He’s been dead at least a day. Blood’s coagulating and drying. The police think it’s gang related, but I don’t think a gang hit would be this intimate. Not with this many people. This is number five after all, and real fast after the last one. And that man clearly isn’t affiliated with a gang and he’s probably not given testimony recently. None of the other victims were informants.”

Gabriel looked back at the corpse. Other than the stab wounds he looked… normal. He looked around, eyes sweeping the bedroom. No photos there either. The most personal thing was a picture of the Virgin Mary. Curiously enough, despite the bloody handprints on her, she was set proper side up with the rest of the altar. 

“What’s the witness testimony?” asked Jesse. “Clearly no one would have picked up many screams. These are thick walls with new windows, and he’s got an AC that would have been running the whole time. House next door is vacant.”

Sojourn stepped in after him, also dressed in paper coveralls. “Not much. They all said Lucas Sousa was a quiet, boring man. He occasionally came when invited to neighborhood barbecues and sometimes watched soccer games, but otherwise kept to himself. The most some of the neighbors saw of him was getting home two nights ago around twilight.”

“Getting home? Walking? Friend?”

“Rideshare, they think. It wasn’t a cab.”

Jesse nodded. “Where’s he from? Is he American or did he immigrate?”

“That’s the thing, we don’t know,” said Sojourn. “This time the killer took his wallet. Our only identification we’ve found so far was on some bills in the kitchen. His name didn’t come up in the criminal database, so no priors. Neighbours said he’s got an accent and cheers for Brazil, so we’re running the information past immigration.”

Jesse frowned but said nothing and went to the body. He was ginger the entire time, never quite touching or disturbing. Sousa was an unassuming looking man of African descent, a thin moustache and carefully cropped white hair. His most prominent feature was a scar on his neck. Jesse did press his fingers against this, tilting the head curiously before moving to look at the victim’s hands and feet.

Once again, Gabriel wondered what was going on in his head. What he was seeing that no one else seemed quick to see.

“He’s fit for his age. Probably works with a few small weights because he doesn’t walk as much as before, thanks to his limp. He’s got a lot of pride in his appearance too.”

“His limp?” said Hammond. “Don’t make shit up-”

“One leg is shorter than the other,” said Jesse. “I bet if you looked into it, he's had a hip replacement, and it’s getting harder on him because he’s developing arthritis. You can see it in his hands, and he’s got Aspirin on the counter. He had trouble moving around today when he was attacked. The other victims were taken by surprise and he hit them in the back first, but this one, he turned,” Jesse held up his arm as if blocking an attack. “So he’s alert, spry. But he’s not fit like he used to be. You can see from the spray and the blood patterns he was leaning heavily on his left side, which is the one I’m betting he’s had work done on.”

Hammond made a disgusted sound but Gabriel watched Jesse, transfixed.

“These killings aren’t gang related. Gang related ones, if they didn’t shoot up the house or burn it down, it’d be a lot quicker. The murder would be over fast. Might even be more public than his own home. Sure the word over the bed sends a message, but nothing quite says ‘don’t fuck with us’ than a bit of terrorism mixed in. This, the way the blade moves, suggests skill but also anger. The killer was angry. The killer’s been angry at all these people. Does anything in his personal papers suggest a link?”

Sojourn shrugged. “We took a quick look, but no. Nothing yet.”

Jesse hummed. “Unmarried, unattached, but takes pride in how he looks and keeping up appearances, but no obvious personal attachments. Military then. Not the states, obviously. Brazil, maybe, but they’re favourites for soccer.”

Gabriel looked back at the shrine when the word  _ Brazil _ came up again. The Virgin Mary featured the most prominently, with Jesus in her arms. Despite being a little messy with blood, he thought he recognized it and made his way over. Unlike most classic pictures, her skin was dark and marked with two scars on her face.

“He’s Haitian,” he said, interrupting their conversation. “He’s not Hispanic at all.” 

Jesse turned. “What?”

“Your victim. He was born in Haiti. The shrine, the picture on the altar is really common with practisers of  _ vodou _ in addition to their Catholic worship. I can’t remember her name, but it’s not the Virgin Mary. You can tell by the scars and the dagger.”

The other man was at his side in a moment. He even took off his hat, laying it on the floor against the dresser, before he leaned in for a closer look. The altar looked typically Catholic, as far as Gabriel was concerned, pardoning the picture which was set at a place of honor. 

Jesse stood and pulled out his phone, thumbs flying over the screen as he searched something up online. Having gone silent, Gabriel looked around the altar again. Though he’d given Jesse a hint, he still felt useless. What was he supposed to see, in such a bland room that somehow the other man could read like a map?

Hammond grunted, the sound disgusted and impatient. “He’s not Haitian. That word up there, that’s Spanish.”

“I can read,” said Gabriel, feeling nettled. “Besides, the killer left that.”

“Red herring,” said Jesse, sounding bored. “How many stab wounds on all of the victims?”

“Eight. Plus the graze on his arm,” said Hammond.

Jesse nodded like that made sense. “You may as well cancel that call to Immigration, it’s pretty obvious it won’t help.”

_ Not to me, _ thought Gabriel. Sojourn clicked her tongue, which prompted Jesse to roll his eyes.

“It’s like he doesn’t live here,” said Jesse. “I just looked him up. No social media presence, he’s got no personal items, and his name is obviously fake. The chances of him being Haitian are exponentially higher than him being Afro-Brazillian, especially since Gabriel noticed the thing about the picture of Ezili Dantor on the altar. Which probably isn’t his, but doesn’t make him  _ not _ Haitian.”

Gabriel felt oddly proud as Jesse stopped and picked up his hat. The cowboy didn’t put it on though, and instead held it to his chest as he stepped away from the altar.

“So he’s lying about his identity?” asked Sojourn.

“I bet some of the others are too.” Jesse tapped his fingers together. “So military, hiding his identity? Or possibly in witness protection services?”

“War criminal,” said Gabriel, the pieces Jesse was laying out starting to make sense.

Jesse snapped his fingers, pointing at Gabriel. “And so it unravels. I need to see everything else from the other four crimes, at once. If any of those scenes are still frozen I want to look at those too. Otherwise I want to talk to anyone who was in them and had a look around.”

He walked a few steps, then stopped, staring at the closet. There was a lot of blood there, and Gabriel wasn’t sure what Jesse was seeing, but the man suddenly got excited.

“He had a bag. He was getting ready to flee the country. The last murder was days ago, and suddenly our victim is getting ready to leave. Killer isn’t escalating, he’s desperate. Takes the bag, probably plenty of money and Sousa’s passports, probably a gun, clothes. So the killer steals his wallet, his things… maybe he thinks this will link him to the next person, if there’s a next.”

Jesse went still, contemplating something.

To Gabriel, it sounded solid. A picture of Sousa was forming in his head. He moved, carefully avoiding any pools of blood, and went to lean over him. He wondered what this man had done, who he had been. He knew he shouldn’t throw judgement on a dead man, but he had a dark feeling that there was something wrong with the man in front of him. A war criminal. He knew well enough about ethnic cleansing and death squads in Haiti, and he was the right age. Just the thought sent a chill through Gabriel’s spine.

Jesse moved up to his tip-toes, looking at the top shelf of the closet. There were a few shoe boxes up there, an old fan, a wrapped comforter. Jesse tapped his index finger against one spot and drew it away before rubbing it against his thumb. He mumbled something, then looked around. 

“Right… right… alright. The bag, the phone… I’d say he would have had a burner phone, but if he used rideshare it’s a smart phone. If he’s got a phone bill down there, find the number, track it, use it to figure out who he called the other day and we can relocate his steps. We’re also looking for a small, oblong box. Maybe like a jewelry box. Killer took that too.”

Hammond snorted. 

“Closet’s not properly dusted on the top shelf, but that part is clean. Box that size… why would you take it? What would be valuable in it? Lots of dust around it, but there’s a track mark. Regularly removed… It’s important. Maybe the only valuable thing he has.” He thought for a moment. “Excuse me.”

Jesse disappeared through the door, leaving Gabriel feeling useless. With one last glance at the victim he headed out the door so he could get his things off and get out of Hammond’s way. The forensic scientist looked murderous.

Sojourn followed Gabriel down the stairs and into the living room. “How did you know that? About Haiti?”

He considered his answer a moment as he stripped off the Tyvek suit and struggled with the booties, throwing them in the trash bags provided. “I did work there. Work I can’t talk about,” he said finally. “If you want a serious answer, though, look up  _ Tonton Macoute. _ Your guy? All of them? If he has anything to do with that group, I’d stop looking for the killer. I’d start letting him get on with his work.”

Outside the crowds had dissipated somewhat. There were less rubberneckers and amateaur photographers, though Reinhardt stood alone at the tape. 

Gabriel paused when he hit the boulevard, craning his neck left and right for a sight of Jesse. It was late, and he wanted to know if they still had business at the new apartment or if he could head back to his sisters. 

“He’s gone.”

Gabriel turned around to see Jack detach himself from a group of officers and walk over. He looked almost relieved compared to the last glimpse he’d had of the man.

“Jesse?”

“McCree came out and asked Fareeha for a lift. Said he had something to do,” said Jack, stopping a few feet short of Gabriel and leaving a healthy distance between them. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Mm. Wonderful.”

Jack sighed. “C’mon. I’ll drive you back to Mariana’s.”

He felt his jaw twitch at once. While it wasn’t the wrong choice, he knew why Jack suggested it, obviously hopeful to find out Gabriel didn’t need to go back to the Lindholm’s already.

“Yeah. Got to tell her the good news about finding a new apartment,” he said, to dig a bit of salt into the wound. “But I’m not riding in the back of a squad car. The last time I was in one was your fault, I don’t want to make it a habit.”

“I’ve got a plain one,” he said with a laugh. “I’ll even let you sit up front.”

The car was neat and tidy and very Jack. It had a bobble head bulldog with a fisherman's cap on the dash next to the radio and scanner, and he spotted a picture of Vincent with a golden retriever taped into the sun visor. That went up at once, out of Gabriel’s view, before the car was started. The stereo turned on with it, singing about how Einstein was a surfer.

“Still a Jimmy Buffet fan, huh?” said Gabriel dryly as they pulled away from the curb. An officer moved the tape for them to leave.

“Always,” said Jack.

They reached the end of the block without anything more said, but as they pulled onto the Santa Monica Freeway Gabriel should have known he wouldn’t be lucky enough to escape a car ride without some kind of talk.

“You shouldn’t trust Jesse McCree.”

Gabriel didn’t reply at once, considering the passing cars. “And why’s that? Fareeha trusts him.”

“Fareeha thinks he’s a changed man.”

He didn’t want to tilt his head in interest, but Jack knew he had Gabriel’s attention with just that statement. 

“Jesse McCree isn’t paid for what he does for us. He’s also not doing it out of charity. His work for the LAPD is better considered probation.”

“So if he’s at your beck and call but isn’t paid there’s a word for that. He’s a slave.”

“He’s a criminal.”

Gabriel felt his hand tremble and looked down at it. “Well, you’re not going to let me out of this car until you think you’ve given me enough to change my mind, so you might as well spit it out, Jack.”

The other man was silent for a long moment but Gabriel knew better than to hope the issue dropped. “Jesse McCree is, and I’m not saying this to be dramatic, what you’d call a criminal mastermind in the movies.”

Gabriel snorted. He couldn’t help himself. “Fuck off.”

“I’m serious.” Jack wasn’t laughing along with him. “The only reason you don’t know who he is, is because we caught him before he was eighteen.”

He looked over at Jack, who returned the look, his eyes cold and mouth in a grim line. “Okay. I’m listening.”

“The gang he helped run was called Deadlock. Ring a bell?”

“Can’t say it does.”

“They started out in Arizona, but began to branch out in a big way. At first it was small time shit, but they did it so masterfully no one knew what the hell to do. The FBI was after them of course when they crossed state lines, but it was the LAPD who made the arrest. The FBI still uses him when they need to.”

“What did he do?”

“Theft, con jobs. They moved well and no one really knew who they were. Then they moved to banks. Each hit was perfectly executed. And they changed their targets up enough that we couldn’t even hit them with marked bills. They’d start one pattern, and switch once it was established. Whatever they did, they’d leave almost no trace with just their stupid insignia painted onto something. And the only reason we ever caught Deadlock was because Jesse McCree let us catch him.”

That was starting to ring a bell. “That was… right after you left the military. In 2000 or so.”

“Yep. I wasn’t more than a detective at the time, but I was in major crimes. It was a different set of higher-ups that arranged the deal McCree has now. I’m not sure I would have let it happen.”

That dislike again. “So why did McCree let you catch him?”

“He had an argument with one of the others over deaths. McCree didn’t seem to think murder belonged in bank robbery if they could help it. One of them, and this one we did arrest and is rotting in jail for a very long time, named Dominic O’Brien started killing people because he thought it was fun. He was a special kind of cruel. So Jesse arranged for us to catch him as the others ran for it. He made a deal that even the FBI went for because he was a minor and they knew what they’d get with his cooperation. O’Brien, this big asshole named Bob Butler, and I can’t remember the last one, but he was nicknamed Bars, they all went to jail. There was a swath of other smaller time men that went out from it too. They tried to hit the other ringleader, but she was a minor and her parents are very influential and Jesse McCree twisted the evidence just right to keep her out of it.”

“So he shaped up.”

“He shaped up over murder, Gabriel. Not over the lives they ruined with conning people, or robbing people. I mean even if you’re to the point of ‘fuck the man’ over big bank robberies, he still controlled every aspect that included terrorizing employees and regular citizens. And he was only upset about the deaths that  _ could _ be avoided. Deadlock had a murder count before he got pissed at O’Brien.”

Jack huffed, slowing down. Gabriel hadn’t realized they were nearing Mariana’s place, but the streets were suddenly familiar. 

“The only other reason Jesse isn’t living out a life sentence behind bars himself is because no one could prove he ever pulled the trigger on someone.”

Neither of them spoke until Jack pulled up in front of the townhouse. There was blue light from the TV coming through the curtains and his nephews were in their room by the looks of it. He stared at the oddly peaceful scene without getting out.

“What’s the deal you cut him?”

“He helps us catch the worst of the worst. He helps us here in Los Angeles, and he helps out the FBI whenever they come calling. He can’t work for us because of his record, but he’s at our whims. He can take clients as a Private Detective if he wants though. Can’t do shit about that.” Jack sighed. “I’m sure he could weasel out of the permanent probation they arranged for him, but honestly I think he likes it.’

“Likes it.”

“You must not have a great grasp of McCree yet. Why do you think he was so young when he starts a gang and starts running all these jobs? Why do you think he could get away with it?” Jack didn’t wait for Gabriel to answer, but everything Jack said was running through Gabe’s mind regardless. “To him, it’s chess and puzzles. It’s thrilling. It’s fascinating. It gets him off. And one day… one day he’s going to be on the other side constructing the puzzles and laying the chess board again. Because this isn’t going to be enough for him.”

He’d heard enough. Gabriel opened the door and began the painful job of climbing out with his bum leg, leaning heavily on his cane. He needed quiet, sleep. Or better yet, painkillers and a half bottle of bourbon before sleep. 

Jack couldn’t help getting one last word in, though.

“Reconsider your choice to live with McCree, Gabriel. He seems nice now, but there’s no way to know what’s going on inside his head.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank-you for reading!


	3. Execution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's similar to BBC's Sherlock in a way, but the OG 'A Study in Scarlet' was particularly convoluted...

The problem with oxycontin and a few good swallows of bourbon was always going to be the hangover. Gabriel felt like there was a lead blanket over all his limbs when he woke up the following morning, with the sun streaming in through the pink curtains and reminding him a world existed outside of his demons.

“Fuck,” he said, the word slurred, and he covered his face, wincing as a headache clanged through his head. He had to lay off the opiates before he got addicted, he knew, and the hangovers and dry mouth were a welcome deterrent. 

Leg still aching, he worked it out from under the blanket and then sat up, rolling his head, stretching out his neck. Water, then shower, then Tylenol and coffee. Food would have to wait until Gabriel was sure he wasn’t going to throw it up.

He found his cane and worked his way down the path he’d made. His niece still came in to play when he was out, but she made sure to leave him room to get in and out. Thinking about her one day getting her room back made him think of the bedroom that could be his on Baker St. 

_ Order of operations. Problems come after the vessel is full, _ he thought, something his  _ abuelo _ used to tell him when he was younger. The advice never steered him wrong.

He opened the door and stepped into the hallway, swearing up a storm as his foot found one of his nephew’s legos. Another plus about Baker St, other than the possibility of living with a genius bank robber, meant none of  _ that. _

Well, maybe. Jesse did have a longhorn skull in a box. There was probably all sorts of weird shit around.

The bathroom was across the hall. He could hear Mariana talking in the kitchen, probably to his brother in law Diego. She sounded much too serious to be discussing anything with the kids, who were probably at school anyway. When she laughed at something he let himself into the bathroom. 

A gallon of water drunk from the tap and the coldest shower he could stand left him feeling more refreshed and alert. He brushed his teeth, shaved, and trimmed his beard, leaving himself looking more or less presentable. As much as he wanted to be slovenly sometimes, there was always something in him that prevented the urge to slide.

Mariana was still talking to someone when he got out, chatting away as sounds of frying eggs reached him. As he made his way to the stairs he could recount her telling a story from their childhood. A story about  _ him _ namely, involving a mishap with fireworks and their uncle’s truck. He supposed it was possible Diego hadn’t heard it before, but when he heard McCree’s rumbling laugh he stopped dead, finger ticking away at the side of his cane.

The laughter died, then he heard McCree’s voice call up to him.

“It’s alright, I didn’t stalk you. Fareeha dropped me off here this morning.”

Gabriel grunted, not reassured in the least, and continued on his way down. “That doesn’t change the fact you asked her to bring you here.”

Jesse appeared in the hallway, looking apologetic. He also had bags under his eyes like he hadn’t slept, though he seemed almost hectically vibrant, like he was going through a binger. “She picked it. I mentioned I had no idea if you’d still want to room with me after last night and she suggested I bring you coffee and donuts as a peace offering.”

Gabriel stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Why would you think I wouldn’t want to?”

“Jack told me to head off without you last night. I figured you were going to get my life story from him. C’mon, Mariana’s making  _ huevos rancheros.” _

Following Jesse into the kitchen, Gabriel felt more than a little insulted by Jack chasing off Jesse and playing it like Jesse was careless. “We can discuss the life story later. Maybe after I tear a strip off Jack.”

Mariana was sliding eggs off a spatula onto tortillas with refried beans. “I think Jesse seems nice, not that I’m trying to rush you out or anything.”

“Elanor probably wants her room back,” said Gabriel, sitting down. “Rush me out all you like.”

His sister looked a bit like him, though she was shorter and had a slightly thinner stature. She was still solid, though, like all the Reyes family. Just then Mariana was dressed in leggings and a tight t-shirt, looking like she’d been about to go jogging. She put his plate down in front of him and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“I’ve got my run I’m leading for our marathon prep team,” she said, heading for the door. “Then I’ve got a client until two. You do the dishes and pick up something for supper, even if you won’t be in for it. I won’t have time before I have to pick up the kids, okay? There’s money in the jar.”

Gabriel waved his hand to show he’d heard, deciding to focus more on the plate. 

“See you later, Jesse,” said Mariana. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“The pleasure was absolutely all mine, beautiful.”

Mariana giggled. “You keep that absolute grump out of trouble, you hear?”

Gabriel ground his teeth as he listened to the jangle of keys and the slam of the door. He was staring at his eggs as if they’d done him some kind of personal injustice.

“Your sister is nice,” said Jesse conversationally, tucking into his food..

“Don’t,” warned Gabriel, glaring at him. “Coffee, now, in my hand before I use my cane to beat you.”

“Yessir.”

Breakfast was quiet, beyond the occasional ping of Jesse’s phone as he scrolled through it. Gabriel was determined not to let his mind wander far on either the fact he was sitting at the table with a very capable criminal or that Jack had tricked him to push some kind of agenda. Neither were agreeable.

Despite his stomach aching somewhat, Gabriel ate everything on his plate and finished the coffee. He’d have liked a second but he’d wait and figure that out later. For now he pushed away the plate and turned to fix his stare on McCree.

Jesse seemed oblivious to the watching. He was a little slower eating, either because he was savoring it, or because whatever he was reading was extremely interesting. His eyes worked over the screen fast, clearly immersed.

Gabriel cleared his throat. 

Jesse held up his finger a moment in a ‘just a moment’ gesture, reading for another few seconds, before he closed it. “Sorry. Like to get through the morning news.”

“I bet you do,” he said dryly. “So, I’m pretty sure you have an idea of how much Jack told me. Why shouldn’t I be mad that you showed up at my house and apparently wormed old stories out of my sister?”

“She offered that,” said Jesse, a touch defensively. “But I suppose you got every right to be mad.”

“Hmm.”

Jesse stared back at him a moment before turning to his half eaten plate and continuing to eat.

“So how much of what Jack said was a lie?”

“I dunno. Wasn’t there to hear.”

“Jesse.”

The other man snorted. “You sound like someone I used t’know. And I dunno. Most of its true I’d wager.”

“Like the bank robberies?”

“Yeah.”

“And killing innocent people?”

“I’ve never killed an innocent in my life.”

“Implying you’ve killed someone who wasn’t.” Gabriel knit his fingers together and stared at Jesse over them. “Fortunately for you, I’m not a cop, and I know a thing or two about killing people who deserved it. When were you planning on telling me about your past?”

Jesse tossed down his fork and leaned back. “You think my past is something I just bandy about to everyone who’ll listen? That I’m particularly proud of it?”

“I’d be proud of it if I managed to give the FBI and the police the slip as long as it sounds like you did,” he said. “So yeah, I think you’re proud of it. But no, I guess it’s not something to just drop in casual conversation.”

They stared at each other for a few moments before Gabriel sighed and pushed away from the table. Without taking his cane, he picked up his plate and cutlery and limped over to the sink so he could start washing up.

“Look, I’m not here to be judge and jury,” said Gabriel, as he turned on the hot water and began to fill the basin. “Certainly not here to be the executioner. What I saw yesterday in that crime scene was a display of brilliance. You’re probably smarter than about ninety-nine percent of the population, and even though you know with a lawyer you could sue the shit out of them keeping you under parole like they are and get plenty in punitive damages, you keep on doing it. Now I don’t know if it’s like Jack said, that you just get off on it, or if you’re here to do some real justice. But I’m not going to shit on you for trying to help out.”

After a moment the other chair rumbled and Jesse joined him at the basin. Gabriel took his empty plate and pointed him at the dish towel hanging off the oven. 

He started scrubbing refried beans off the plate, considering it all. “But this guy who’s doing the killings, in the here and now? I guess I want to know what you plan on doing about it.”

Jesse hummed thoughtfully. “Considering everything I’ve found out about two of the other victims? I don’t want to do a damn thing. But that’s not the point of this.”

Gabriel handed him the first plate. “Guess it depends on who catches him first. If it’s you? And you’ve got a choice? What will you do?”

“Before or after shaking his hand?”

Gabriel snorted. “I guess that’s enough answer. When can I move in?”

“Tonight, I reckon, if you don’t have a lot of stuff to move.”

“Works for me.”

***

Jesse seemed interested in going on the grocery run for Mariana despite how mundane it was. He insisted on using Gabriel’s phone to call an Uber to a grocery store needlessly far away, looking disappointed when it arrived, and waited outside to smoke while Gabriel hunted up everything on the list Mariana kept on the refrigerator. 

It was sort of mundane, pushing his cart up and down the brightly lit aisles as he picked up the staples Mari kept in the house and a few things she could use to make supper that night. As he poked at avocados he thought about how all this food - all this choice - was  _ dizzying. _ And how once he was done calculating final costs and making small talk with the cashier, this tiny liminal space would pass him back into a brighter place, and it was easy for Gabriel to see the difference why.

He handed over bills and change to the cashier, glancing out the windows to see McCree in the employee smoking area, his eyes on the street.

Had to give his head a shake over that one. Gabriel had only known Jesse for a day. He was  _ not _ supposed to be this affected after only forty-eight hours. Unbidden, his own mind worked out a comparison for Jack, but even he’d been weeks getting under Gabriel’s skin before they’d been friends, and later yet lovers.

_ We’re roommates, _ he thought stubbornly.  _ And even then, we’re not roommates until I’ve signed something with the Lindholm’s. _

Jesse looked around when Gabriel got close, stubbing out the cigarette he was smoking, and gave him an easy smile. “I’ve called an Uber. Let me take one of those for you.”

_ Fucking asshole, _ Gabriel tried to think.  _ He has no business being charming. _

One Uber turned into two. After dropping off groceries, Jesse took them back near the same grocery store, this time at a Starbucks. He let Gabriel get comfortable out on the patio, dodging questions of  _ why here _ , and left for more coffees and borrowing Gabriel’s phone, saying he needed to check something.

“Weird motherfucker,” Gabriel muttered, picking up a discarded, half-missing copy of the LA Times. 

A car pulled up at the curb, hazards on. Gabriel ignored him, working through the sports section, until a black man got out, looking around expectantly as he stood against the top. “Anyone call for an Uber?”

Jesse came out a moment later, the door chiming as he left the shop. He said nothing to the man looking for his fare, setting Gabriel’s coffee down as he scrutinized the driver, but they gave up after a moment and got back in the car, slamming the door and pulling away with a chirp of his tires. Jesse sighed and sat down.

“Weird,” said Gabriel. “Don’t you get penalized for calling a ride and cancelling?”

“Yeah,” said Jesse, fussing with something. “Thank goodness for multiple emails, credit cards, paypal, and apps that don’t track sim cards.”

Gabriel looked up sharply. Jesse was doing something on his phone again before he set it down, looking expectant. He placed Gabriel’s back down next to his coffee and Gabe snatched it back up before Jesse could land him in trouble.

“What are you up to?”

“A hunch,” he said, taking off his hat and leaning back as he watched both the parking lot and the street before them.

“Is that why you decided we had to have coffee  _ here? _ And had to use a grocery store  _ here?” _

“In West Adams? Yep.” Jesse sipped his coffee, amused. 

_ This is near where we were last night, _ he realized, wondering what the hell Jesse could possibly want with calling rideshares on different numbers and then standing them up. Deciding he’d rather leave Jesse hoping for the question, he went back to reading. 

“Isn’t this a waste of money?”

“Depends on how you define waste.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “And just how long are we staking out for your hunch? I mean, not all of us can lollygag outside of a coffee shop all day.

“Don’t reckon it’ll be long,” said Jesse, fiddling with something on the umbrella. “I sent him a text from your phone. If he is some kind of rideshare type, he’ll show up.”

“You texted a  _ murderer _ with  _ my phone  _ and didn’t think to tell me.”

“Uh huh,” said Jesse, leaning back. He had hung a rosary. It wasn’t particularly interesting, the beadwork in a pattern of blue green and red, but the fact that Jesse had one didn’t seem right at all.

Sighing, Gabriel tossed the paper down and pulled out his phone to read the text message.  **[SMS to: ** xxx-xxx-xxxx **] ** You forgot something at the party at my place last night, but don’t worry, I’m holding onto it for you.  **[pin]**

“Why didn’t you just use yours, or a masking app like you’re using for the ride shares?” asked Gabriel. 

“Just in case our  _ tonton macoute  _ has better technology on his phone than most folks in protective custody,” said Jesse. “You done with the paper?”

“No. And so what? It’s not like he knows you.”

Jesse shrugged. “I’m a PI. I’m a listed number.”

“And the rosary?  I doubt you’re Catholic, so what gives?”

“Swiped it from the crime scene. No idea if it’s important yet, but I think it might be.”

Gabriel picked up the paper, deciding not to comment on the fact that Jesse had just stolen evidence without a care. It was no wonder Jack’s blood pressure seemed so high lately. “And calling all the ride shares for no reason?”

“I think he might be a driver,” said Jesse. “Could be how he knew to find everyone. From what I can see, all of the people involved had recently used the service. Now that can’t be how he pin-pointed them, and I’m still working that out, but it is a pretty safe way to get someone to blindly trust you a few moments without having to be driving a company car like a taxi. Uber and Lyft are just unmarked vehicles. No one notices that pulling up in the street.”

“So the text, the pin, the rosary, and calling the ride shares… you want this guy to come over here? You think he’s that stupid?”

“Either he shows up and we get a look at him, or he doesn’t and he sits there and stews all day over making a mistake,” said Jesse. “Don’t tell me you’d rather be at group or something. Potentially seeing a murder suspect is way more fun.”

Gabriel wished he could disagree.

“So, how long did it take you to make all those connections? You look like you barely slept.”

“S’cause I didn’t. Oh, here comes one.”

Gabriel looked up as a black Honda Civic slowed near the curb. The driver was Asian, with neat, side-shaved hair and was craning his neck around looking for his fare.

“Ah, Vietnamese. Not our guy.”

He didn’t bother asking how Jesse seemed to know he was Vietnamese. “You didn’t sleep?” The picture he was starting to develop in his head of Jesse McCree involved the words ‘walking liability.’

“Nah. I’ve been up a few days now. Bad habit. I did do enough digging to find out that probably three of our victims are  _ Tonton Macoute,  _ or, well, more accurately part of the Front for Advancement and Progress of Haiti _ . _ The other two are also Haitian and used their original names when moving to America. No ties to the government or Haitian military, and from what digging I could do they lived relatively boring lives in Port-Aux-Prince. One moved over with her family, the other on his own.”

Gabriel sipped his coffee. “They might have been informants. Trying to save their family they sold out another.”

Jesse sighed. “I’d hoped for something more villainous.”

“They might be,” said Gabriel with a shrug. “I’m just speculating.”

“So am I. I just don’t want this guy killing technically innocent people. Makes it harder not to turn him in. Here’s another.”

Gabriel glanced at the newest car, a shiny orange Toyota Camry, and dismissed it when he saw the white woman with an A-line bob and brick red highlights driving it. He agreed with Jesse. While turning in your neighbor was a scummy thing to do, desperate times sometimes made people do desperate things.

He finished the paper before long. Gabriel kept glancing at the time, but after an hour and a half the cars slowly stopped coming. He supposed eventually they’d catch on that someone was being a douchebag, even if they couldn’t pinpoint who was doing it.

He sipped his third coffee, staring at the rosary as Jesse blinked slowly, looking like he was on the verge of a coma. Movement beyond their table caught Gabriel’s eye. A car pulled into a parking stall and turned off, the sounds of muffled Hip Hop dying once the door started to open. A beige Buick Allure, one that had seen better days. A man was driving, black and seemingly youthful, with a carefully shaved goatee and short, thick locs. 

The young man seemed distracted by something, tucking a phone into his pants pocket as he got out of his sedan and headed for the door, eyes roaming like he was looking for something and just wasn’t seeing it.

He spotted Gabriel watching him and looked over, steps slowing a little as he passed. Gabriel averted his eyes and a second later the door chimed as the man went in for his caffeine fix.

_ Could just be a date, _ he thought. 

Jesse, who’d been leaning his head against his hand, suddenly fumbled as his head dropped, on the verge of passing out. “Shit, sorry.”

Gabriel sighed. “C’mon. You’re no fucking good passing out even after seven shots of espresso.”

He got up, tossing aside his paper and plucking the rosary off of the umbrella to tuck in his pocket, before he gave Jesse a nudge with his cane. Fortunately, yet another vehicle pulled up, this one a silver Kia Soul. The guy - white, in his twenties with thick black rimmed glasses and a curled moustache - waved and Gabriel waved back.

“C’mon. One of your Ubers are here.”

“Fuck.”

“Uh huh.”

Gabriel glanced back at the Starbucks. The young man was placing his order now, not looking back. Gabriel supposed it was wishful thinking, doing this. The victims phone was probably off, and they probably weren’t working for Lyft or Uber in West Adams anymore.

He opened the door for McCree, who stumbled inside muttering about long shots and how weak the body had to be to require sleep.

_ Maybe I should rethink this, _ thought Gabriel, climbing in after.  _ I’m not sure I have the patience to be a nanny. _

***

McCree was out cold the moment he hit the bed, but Gabriel could probably make a strong argument for the moment he’d sat down in the rideshare. Still, for a sleeping man he’d been surprisingly good at climbing the stairs.

Gabriel stood staring at him, watching Jesse lay face down on the bed that wasn’t even made yet, the sheets still bunched at the bottom in a laundry basket. With a sigh he knocked Jesse’s hat off with the tip of his cane and turned to look around the place. He didn’t bother helping Jesse with the boots. No way he was going to wrangle sweaty leather cowboy boots off an unconscious man who hadn’t beseeched him for it.

Apartment B was fairly spacious as far as most places in LA went. The age of the place showed in scratched wooden floors and dated wallpaper, but Gabriel sort of liked it. All three of the bedrooms were on the small side, but Gabriel liked the empty one at the end of the hall with a window that looked out at the scrap of undeveloped land out back. He supposed Jesse already intended this one for him, but he found himself standing in it and imagining having a real bedroom.

The kitchen wouldn’t even be a hazard. Gabriel wasn’t sure if Jesse was much inclined to cooking, but he always was thanks to his  _ abuelita.  _ She’d liked to keep him out of trouble as a kid by putting him to work in the kitchen.

Someone knocked on the door. Gabriel guessed it was probably Mrs. Lindholm again and made his way there, weaving through the cardboard boxes. When he opened it Gabe was more than a little surprised to see Mari and Elanor waiting on the threshold with boxes of his things.

“When I said rush I meant it figuratively,” he said, before standing to the side.

“Oh, well, you know, I thought about it and I knew you’d take the place, so I figured we’d surprise you two with pizza and beer and a bit of help moving in. Not that we need much, considering you only have the one truckload of things.” Mariana walked by him with the biggest box, Elanor following with a much smaller one, his nephews nowhere to be seen.

“Elanor wants a sleepover?” he asked quietly, his mouth quirking.

“Tomorrow,” said Mariana. “And I knew you’d just take the couch and then complain about your back. The boys are struggling up your arm chair now. Where’s Jesse?”

“Sleeping. Long story, but don’t wake him up,” said Gabriel. His nephews appeared with boxes and cushions from their  _ abuelo _ ’s old arm chair, but they seemed more interested in the boxes Jesse had left strewn about. 

“Don’t touch anything that you don’t know for sure is mine,” he warned them.

“But nothing here is yours.”

“Exactly.”

Alejandro pushed his lip out in a pout before spinning on his heel to get another box.

The moving party involved his family and one of their neighbours. Gabriel felt a bit useless when Diego and his friend moved in the armchair and the bed frame and mattress, but he had to admit the place was shaping up. Seeing the old chesterfield wingback armchair with its worn, cracked leather go down with the footstool made him feel nostalgic for his grandparents. He could almost smell pipe smoke, and hear his  _ abuelo _ telling stories in his husky voice.

“I’m glad you kept it,” he said quietly, as Mariana put a crocheted cushion on it.

She kissed him on the cheek before making an angry sound in her throat. “Hey!  _ Metiches! _ _ Dejan las cajas en paz. No son suyos.” _

“But there’s a  _ cow skull _ in here! Who owns a cow skull?” complained Alejandro.

Mariana walked away. “It doesn’t matter who owns it. If you drop it and break it you’ll be sorrier than you’ve ever thought possible.”

“Mama-”

“One.”

_ “UGH.” _

Gabriel snorted as a box rustled behind him and Mariana scolded Alejandro in Spanish. Diego and his friend were moving the last item - an old dresser - and he moved to the window to see if there was anything else in the old pick up truck.

A beige Buick Allure was parked a few spots down from it, with a black man leaning against the side. He had short locs, and he was looking up at the window, hands in his pockets. 

A peculiar feeling stole over him, hardening as he thought about his family there. “I’ll be right back, Mariana. Why don’t you guys order that pizza now?”

“Sure thing,” she said. “Perhaps food will keep them from being nosy.”

He was quick down the stairs, holding his cane in his hand rather than taking his time, but he hardly felt the pain before he was pushing out the front door and walking back out into the hot evening sun.

The man wasn’t smiling. He was watching as Gabriel made his way over to him with a detached kind of look, oddly calm.

“If you’re looking for McCree,” said Gabriel, stopping a few feet short of him. Close enough to hit with his cane, far enough that the man couldn’t just grab him. “You’ll have to come back later.”

“Not interested in him,” said the man quietly. His voice was accented and mild, like it had the potential for kindness, but he sounded stressed. “I am interested in you. We shall go for a ride. You can drive?”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” said Gabriel. “It’s you, isn’t it. You’re-”

Gabriel looked down at the movement of the other man’s arm. Tiny and black and cold, the emptiness of a gun barrel stared at him. It wasn’t a big gun, perhaps .38 calibre. Maybe a SIG Sauer. Gabriel blew out a slow breath, itching for his sidearm, which was inconveniently upstairs in his duffel bag.

“You’re gonna leave my family out of this right?”

“Yes. So, can you drive?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. In you go. I’ll stay in the back and guide you.”

Gripping his cane tightly, Gabe nodded and moved around the car to the drivers side. As much as he would have liked to run or do something, with his knee as it was the gesture would be pointless. Protesting would be pointless. He glanced up at the window of Apartment B but saw no one looking back. No doubt the kids were arguing now over what pizza to order. Alejandro liked jalapeno and sausage, Elanor liked hawaiian, Xavier liked cheese. It seemed like a million miles away.

The inside of the car was clean and looked after despite its age. A rosary hung from the rear view mirror, the only really personal item within. When Gabriel turned it on the fans started with a quiet hum, the radio already switched off.

“Go on, then,” said the man, as Gabriel put the car into drive. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. End Result

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A great big thank-you to those who have commented and left kudos. I already have the next fic ready, so expect another update Wednesday :)

Gabriel hadn’t driven anything since he’d been hit. He was starting to wish he’d been shot on the left side as pain flared from his knee and up every time he worked the gas or brake pedals, and when they hit the freeway the damn thing didn’t have cruise so there was no respite there. He couldn’t remember having to use them  _ so much _ before, but he supposed he’d just taken everything for granted. 

As the man guided him towards Industry Gabriel watched him through the rearview mirror. His age was hard to pinpoint, but Gabriel would put him in his mid-thirties. He had a carefully tended goatee and a diamond stud in each ear, and his clothes were neat, new even. They’d only spoken once since getting into the car.

“So, you got a name?”

“I prefer to speak with others face to face,” he said. “And we will be talking before the end.”

Gabriel’s jaw flexed. “Why wait?”

“Because your family seemed nice and I would hate for them to carry that with them,” he replied. “There is no need to talk for now. Just drive.”

Gabriel hadn’t been to the city of Industry since he was a kid. He remembered getting in trouble for tagging rail cars and lines of fence with his friends. There were some new, clean faced buildings there now, but for the most part little had seemed to change. It was rail yards and shipping hubs and warehouses. Gabriel didn’t dwell much on thoughts of the past, though. That gun barrel was still pointed at him and Gabriel didn’t want to risk it going off if he purposely crashed the car.

The man lead him to a deserted street. With the businesses closed for the day there were no cars in sight. The man guided him into a small parking lot and told Gabriel to keep his hands on the wheel as he exited.

_ Of all the dumb fucking places to die, _ thought Gabriel, looking at the business in front of him. An industrial cleaning place.  _ Can’t decide if this is better or worse than Syria. _

The man opened the car door and kept the gun trained on him. Even if he was a shitty shot, Gabriel knew he had no chance of snatching it from him without getting a bullet in the stomach.

“Come on, then.”

He picked up his cane and eased out of the car, letting the door swing shut behind him. The sun was starting to set and the shadows were growing longer. There wasn’t a single car in sight that wasn’t a company box car locked up in a lot for the night.

“The key for this place is the square-headed golden key on the ring you are carrying,” said the man, urging Gabriel on with the barrel of his gun. “You will walk halfway to the front counter and stop. And do not try to play cute. I may not kill you directly in the open, but I can see you’re a man with injuries. I can cause you a lot of pain before the police arrive and discover where the sound of the shot came from.”

Jaw flexing, Gabriel did as he was told. Inside the business was silent and smelled of cleaner. The tiny reception area consisted of nothing more than a dirty, disorganized desk and two old plastic chairs squished into the corner. A fan grated noisily in the corner, forgotten on for the night. Beyond the reception area there was a large industrial door with a wire mesh glass window looking into the darkness of the shop.

“So, the folks that own this place, they good with you comitting murder on premesis?”

“They are a delightful family whom I worked for between doing work as a rideshare. It is unfortunate that I have to betray their trust, but as you can no doubt tell I am a foreigner. I do not know many quiet places for what I have to do.”

“It’s so hard to find a good spot for a murder, isn’t it?” said Gabriel drily. 

Behind him the man turned off the security system with a panel on the wall.

“Head through that door. I’ll be just behind. We can talk in there.”

The shop itself wasn’t overly large and smelled strongly of citric acid cleaners. There were tubs of chemicals along one wall, maintenance and wash bays, and broad garage doors. Gabriel walked until the man behind him cleared his throat. 

“That will do,” he said. “Now we can talk. Why don’t you tell me your name?”

Gabriel turned around to look. The other man kept his distance, but the pistol was still trained on him and there was still a darkness in his eyes. 

“My name is Gabriel Reyes,” he said. “So what the hell could you want with me? Picking me up and holding me at gunpoint doesn’t seem to fit in with your habits.”

The man frowned. “I was going to kill you in your apartment, but your family was there, and there are people living below. This was easiest.”

“And why are you going to kill me? I don’t even fit with your victims.”

“So you know what I have been doing.” The man narrowed his eyes. “Do you know my face?”

“Nope,” said Gabriel, popping the ‘P’ at the end. “Don’t know you from Adam, hate to say it. I can tell you’re Hatian, but that’s about it.”

“My last name is Augustin.” When Gabriel shrugged anger further darkened the man's features. “Jean-Baptiste Augustin.”

“I don’t know you,” said Gabriel, trying to keep his voice even. “I don’t know your victims. I’m just-”

“Just what, exactly? You texted the phone of a murderer? You texted quite familiarly. So what is your connection to Joseph Saint Louis? And why,” the man, Augustin, squeezed the grip of the pistol tighter, “why did you have my sisters rosary so brazenly displayed today outside of that coffee shop?  _ Mocking _ me with it?”

Pieces were slotting into place. Gabriel raised his hands slowly, holding onto his cane and trying to keep his stance steady. “Look, I don’t know that man and I wasn’t using the rosary to mock you.”

“Liar. That is not a coincidence. I took the man’s trophies from his room. He had so many, but not hers. Then I find you and your strange cowboy friend. He is too young I think to have anything to do with the  _ Tonton Macoute  _ or the FRAPH _ , _ but you? You are Saint Louis’s age. So explain yourself.”

“I was at the crime scene last night.”

“Are you a policeman?”

“No.”

“Well you are certainly no analyst or reporter.”

“I was invited there.”

“By who?”

“The strange cowboy friend,” said Gabriel. “We found the rosary and we were trying to see if you’d follow the text and come to the cafe.”

“So you are not a friend of Saint Louis, you are not a policeman, and you are not an analyst, and you were at the crime scene and stole evidence. Just who are you?”

“I’m no one. I’m just a really, really tired ex-Marine.”

“You must understand how I have trouble with that.”

“That’s your damage then.”

Augustin’s jaw set. 

“Look, we don’t even want to turn you in,” Gabriel insisted. “You’ve got the wrong guy. I’m a Marine, I’m not from Haiti or connected to the people you’re after. I was literally just… being useless, really. Put the gun down and we can talk and figure something out.”

“You are asking a lot on faith, and I think you are not a man who has that. I think you are a liar. You are obviously a thief. And you know my face. I am sorry, whoever you are. This may be circumstance. You may just be along for the ride, as you American’s say. But I can’t take that risk anymore. I have come too far for that.”

“Yeah. Three  _ Tonton Macoute _ and two innocent folks from Port-Aux-Prince.”

“They were NOT innocent!” he barked. “Myself! My sister! We were innocent. My sister, all she did was protest our despotic government, and the FRAPH raped her, brutalized her, and hung her from a tree. I was nine years old, and it is still my most vivid memory. Those other two, they gave her up. Her, and several other college students. The blood is  _ still _ on their hands.”

Gabriel swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. What happened in Haiti was… I’m sorry we couldn’t do more.”

_ “We? _ You mean the Marines, the US Government? The CIA, who backed Emmanuel Constant? You are sorry you could not do more?”

It was going nowhere. Gabriel closed his eyes, thinking of Mariana and the kids, his step brother. Fareeha. Jack. Jesse.

“I don’t know if you’re actually going to shoot me,” he said quietly. “Maybe those other two weren’t innocent, but I am. And if you let me go I’ll get the rosary from the apartment, and you can have it.”

“I’ll have it either way. But there are people out there who would not like my face to be remembered.”

Gabriel hung his head, breathing out slowly. He’d never expected an execution to be the way he went out, but he had always figured on a bullet.

“Pray to God, Gabriel Reyes. I don’t do these things because I want to. I do them because I have no choice.”

There was a heavy click in the air, the sound of a hammer being pulled back, and Gabriel’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes squeezed shut. 

_ Mariana. Elanor. Alejandro. Xavier. Fareeha. Jack. Jesse. _

Gabriel thought could smell the scent of Jesse’s cigar. Strange, how comforting that was.

“That’ll be enough of that,” drawled a lazy voice. “We all got a choice, so maybe don’t make a stupid one.”

Gabriel’s eyes flew open, feeling as though cold water had been doused over him as he looked up. Hand slowly raising, the small SIG Sauer dangling by the trigger guard, Jean-Baptiste Augustin looked just as surprised as Gabriel felt. Behind him stood Jesse McCree, his cigar winking cherry red as he took a draw on it. He had his finger on the trigger of what Gabriel would guess to be a .45 calibre revolver. 

“Why don’t you put your little pop gun on the floor,” Jesse continued. “And we can all sit and talk like grown ups.”

Gabriel snorted, a giddy relief washing over him now as he leaned on his cane. His knees were shaking and weak, and he felt ready to fall over. He’d never been so happy to see someone, he was sure. “What took you so long?”

Jesse puffed his cigar again before taking it out of his mouth. “Sorry. You know the story about the tortoise and the hare? Had to rest up so I was bright eyed and bushy tailed. Your sister thought something was up so she kicked me awake.”

“Pretty sure the hare lost that race, Jesse.”

“Eh,” Jesse shrugged nonchalantly. “Just a story anyway.”

Augustin put the gun down on the floor and rose slowly. Gabriel was having a hard time discerning his facial expression. Resignation? Desolation? He supposed it didn’t matter.

When Jesse gave him a nudge, Augustin sat at one of the work benches, head hung, arms limp before him. 

The hammer clicked as Jesse released it and he holstered the gun under his jacket. “There now,” he said. “I’m glad my partner here’s stupid enough to leave his location services on and have a really easy password.”

Gabe shot Jesse an angry look. 

“Don’t be like that. Your lack of electronic self preservation saved your life. Anyway,” Jesse dug in his pocket. He held out the rosary, letting it dangle at eye height before Augustin. “I’ve got something for you. What comes next is up to you, though. But believe me when I say I’m biased because you went and threatened to kill an innocent man before you had all the facts.”

Augustin’s eyes were sorrowful as he reached up and took the rosary. He held it like a precious treasure, like a delicate thing, cradling it in his hands. His thumb caressed the crucifix and Augustin’s face broke into a sob, tears rolling down his cheeks as he cupped the rosary to his face.

Jesse said nothing, taking a step back to smoke and let the man cry it out. 

Gabriel had seen plenty of soldiers cry before, he’d seen grown men weep over the fallen bodies of children, watched the tear tracks run through the ashes on their skin. This was somehow different. This was almost like relief. The tears of a man reunited with someone he thought dead. 

After a few minutes Augustin’s wounded cries began to quiet and he looked up, eyes red from his tears, his face more youthful in its grief than aged with its anger. “What… what do you plan to do with me?” 

Jesse glanced at Gabriel.

“Don’t look at me,” said Gabriel with a shrug. While a part of him really wanted to hit the perp around the head with his cane a few times, the louder piece of himself just wanted this over and done with. “I’m pissed, but I can hardly blame the man for what he did.”

With a heavy sigh Jesse pulled a chair away from the work bench and sat down. “Guess I’d need to know your motivations and who backed you for your little sojourn into serial murder before I decide,” he said.

Augustin blinked. “I… what?”

“Who backed you?” Jesse repeated. “Gabe’s sister caught the license plate and I looked you up. You’re fresh to the United States, killed someone in Miami, then came here, so that means someone supplied you with names. I want to hear the story.”

“You know about Miami?”

“Yeah. I’m not stupid. Fortunately the FBI didn’t notice a link between Florida and here otherwise they’d be breathing down my neck too.”

“Who are you?”

“Just a man. C’mon, out with it. Time’s wasting.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, Augustin nodded. “Their name - his name, I think - is Sombra.”

“And who’s that?”

“I don’t know. They found me. I killed a man in Port-Aux-Prince when I discovered who he was, and the next day while I was in a panic I received a phone call. Their voice was modified, but they told me they knew what I did, and who I was, and if I loved freedom and wanted revenge that I would listen to them. So I did.” Augustin wiped at his eyes, sitting up straighter. “I was later contacted by a man named Nguyen. He claimed to know this Sombra, and said… they were part of something big. And if I agreed to help them they would help me.”

_ Sombra? Shadow? _ Gabriel had never heard of anyone referring to themselves that way. Jesse however, merely leaned forward, the frown on his face deepening.

“And what does this Sombra and this Nguyen want?”

“They said they would give me sponsorship to the United States, and a list of names of the ones who yet live that had anything to do with the death of my sister. In return I would kill them. Every successful kill would see funds given to the clinic where I worked helping the poor and impoverished of Haiti. I agreed.”

“Why would they sponsor you to kill people?”

“It sounded insane, but he said that sometimes chaos means opportunities. He then showed me the completed paperwork for my entry to the United States and informed me the first name would be mine when I reached Miami. I didn’t think I had anything left to lose. I was a murderer. I needed to flee Haiti anyway.”

“Did this Sombra say what they’d do if you were unsuccessful?”

“They mentioned understanding if I got cold feet, but to remember they would not protect me, and that my clinic could potentially be exposed to harm. It seemed like an easy choice to make. I… have been consumed by anger. For many years.”

Gabriel did have a question though. “Why write revenge in Spanish? It’s only one letter, but…”

Augustin shrugged. “A suggestion made to me. Americans are quick to pin blame on gangs. I thought, because of the heavy hispanic population here, it would do the trick.”

_ Well, it worked,  _ he thought, though it was irritating.

Jesse rubbed his face. “You kept saying clinic. You a doctor?”

“Yes.”

“Not legal to practice in America I bet.”

“No. I am not.”

“But you’re good?”

“Very good.”

Jesse nodded, seeming to make up his mind. “So, Jean-”

“Baptiste.” A small smile curved Baptiste’s lips, taking even more years away. “Call me Baptiste. Only my mother used to call me Jean, and only when she was coming for me with a wooden spoon.”

“Baptiste then. Say I get you a spot somewhere to hole up where I can keep an eye on you, do you swear that you’ll do your penance for what you’ve done? I ain’t a praying man myself, but murder can weigh pretty heavily on a soul no matter who’s name it’s done in. God, a loa, don’t matter.”

“You know about Dantor?” Baptiste looked surprised. 

“Reyes here noticed it and I looked it up. I noticed the number of wounds, and the fact you did them before an altar.”

“Her preferred sacrifice is a pig. I thought it poetic,” he replied, completely matter of fact. “She is the mother of the Petro family and she protects her children with a vengeance. I thought that she would approve.”

“Well you sure made your point,” said the cowboy, getting to his feet. “Alright, let’s finish this up. I’ve got some sleep to catch up on and I’d like to get you out of the way before one of those detectives figures you out. God I’m going to have a fun time spinning them away to some fictional perp. I wonder how many veins I can get Morrison to burst by sunset tomorrow.”

Gabriel couldn’t help the anxious giggle that welled up in his chest. Deciding his presence wasn’t exactly needed anymore he turned to head to the door, leaning heavily on his cane now. He hadn’t noticed it, but now his leg was miserable with him.

_ Mariana better have brought all my medication to the apartment. _

He stopped at the door, glancing back at Jesse and Baptiste, a touch impatient to get the hell out of there and work over the fact he hadn’t been shot.

“What penance would you have me do?” Baptiste looked anxious at this as he stood, still gripping the rosary tight.

Jesse pat the man on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. You’ll be working for an angel.”

***

Despite the late hour, the clinic was full of people, all packed into the small waiting room. Gabriel had never seen a place look less like a clinic on the outside. It was a simple house in a rundown neighborhood. The large front window was covered with a faded and chipped sign for an attorney's office which read ‘By Appointment Only.’ 

Inside, however, the house had been modified. The reception and waiting room was squished into the living room. A few rows of mismatched chairs lined each wall, and an old tube TV ran local channels. There was a small collection of dated toys in the corner, and a donation bookshelf with a few medical pamphlets and used books.

While there was no overt give away, Gabriel suspected many of these people fell below the poverty line, and he doubted they had insurance. Tired looking mothers with sick children, quiet loners with flimsy paper masks, a group of construction workers who looked banged up from a day at work. 

Jesse had lead Gabriel and Baptiste past reception and into the converted kitchen where they’d met the woman who ran the clinic, Dr. Angela Ziegler. 

She was a bright eyed woman with an earnest smile, despite the tired lines around her eyes and a few threads of grey in her golden hair. According to Jesse, her legal job was a trauma surgeon in LA General.

“I won’t be able to pay you, at least not at first,” said Angela, sitting across from Baptiste, who had his sister’s rosary looped around his wrist. “This clinic barely makes enough money to keep its doors open, you see. We help those that no one else will. Women who can’t afford an abortion, mothers with no insurance to help their children, immigrants who don’t make enough to go to a regulated clinic. Those sorts of people. We do minor things, like stitches and other aid, for the most part. If we can get the supplies and we can perform a procedure safely we’ll do basic things. Setting bones, early term abortions, even tonsillectomies. We try to help get them the prescriptions they need. We give check ups. I’ve even got a lab technician in LA General who helps us do blood work when they can. This place is their only hope, and in doing so the ones who work here are donating their time. What little money these people can pay for care goes directly into keeping this place open and keeping our tools and supplies stocked.”

Baptiste nodded. “I have worked in similar situations in Haiti,” he said. “It would be my honor to work here, though I will have to continue other work to supplement my own income.”

“All the doctors here volunteer on a part time basis,” she said. “Some of them were trained in other countries and are not able to practice in America. Your skill will be a big help. Just remember that this is all under the table, every bit of it. All our patients trust us to help them, and part of their payment is not revealing us to the police. Your discretion will be required.”

“Of course. I can begin today if you like?”

Angela glanced at Jesse, who shrugged, then looked back to Baptiste. “I can’t say no. One of our doctors had to call in absent because he was required at his legal workplace. If you can wash your hands I will take you to get a lab coat. I think we have on that will fit you. Are you good with children?”

The two of them left, talking in a low murmur, leaving Gabriel leaning against the counter. Jesse looked at ease as he watched the two of them leave, before he stood up and put his hat back on.

“She’s a nice lady,” he said. “She’s pulled bullets out of me and let me off with only a scolding.”

“Sounds like a match made in heaven.”

“I’m not really her type,” he joked quietly. “That’s Fareeha’s girl.”

Gabriel’s eyes must have bulged because Jesse laughed, waving him along after him. They said good-bye to the receptionist and left out onto the dark street. 

“Does Fareeha know about all this?”

“Yep. Though we’ll keep Baptiste a secret. She don’t need to know. It’d jeopardize her job.”

They walked together to the vehicle Jesse had borrowed from the Lindholm’s, a gold Honda Odyssey that was full of an amazing amount of smells and samples of fast food thanks to all the kids.

“You’re a good man, Jesse.”

“I appreciate you saying that,” he said. “C’mon. Let’s head home. I’ve got a bottle of bourbon to christen the place. As my uncle always said, home ain’t home until you’ve broken a window and someone’s pissed in a corner.”

***

“It sounds as though you had quite the week,” said the woman in front of him. She sat poised on her own chair, a cup of tea next to her and her writing pad in her lap, pen halted in its consistent note taking. Dr. Orisa Oladele was the sort of psychologist he could  _ maybe _ trust. She had been military herself, an MP who’d pursued psychology when she’d had enough of military life. “So you’ve moved in with this Jesse McCree?”

Gabriel nodded. He’d left out some parts of his story. His new psychologist did  _ not _ need to know the two of them had decided to pardon a serial murderer on their first job together. “Yeah, it’s a nice place. And it gets me out of sleeping in a princess bed.”

Dr. Oladele laughed. That was perhaps the nicest thing about her, the way her eyes crinkled up and a big smile broke over her face. Despite his general reluctance towards psychiatrists he liked her. She reminded him of a drill sergeant he’d had once, who’d been as sweet as anything when she wasn’t working.

“Well, I have been thinking of ways to try to help you connect to your life around you. We don’t want to push you into sharing in group before you’re ready, and I  _ think _ volunteering might be a little much at this stage. Volunteering to help the police is quite enough,” she set her paper down and clasped her wide hands together, leaning over to look at him, elbows on her knees. “Have you ever considered writing a blog, or keeping a journal?”

It was his turn to laugh, though it stopped after a moment when he realized she was serious. “Uh, no ma’am.”

“Stop calling me ma’am I’m not that old,” replied Dr. Oladele, sitting up and picking up the pad and pen. “But I am talking earnestly. Writing about what you do with Jesse McCree, and the world you are about to begin to explore with him, may very well help reconnect you with civilian life. One day you could gloss over a case you do with him, leaving out the classified parts of course, and other times you can discuss something else that was simple about your day. Something funny, something annoying. Even if it’s just a journal you keep in your drawer, you will start to find things that will endear you to a life outside the military.”

Gabriel sighed. “You think I’m pining that hard for the Marines, ma- uh, Orisa. Dr. Oladele.”

“Orisa is fine, I’ve told you that also. And no, I don’t think it. I know so. You miss the structure, the rigidity. Why else did you never try to date or have a life outside of them? You tell me you lived on base alone, and were very dedicated to your work. I think Gabriel Reyes does not know who he is, and he needs to learn that.”

He felt his left hand shake and gripped a soft cushion with it, sinking his fingers into the fabric to keep it steady. Orisa said nothing, watching him with her gentle eyes. “I’m almost fifty,” he said finally, when he was sure his voice would not give him away. “How can a man learn who he is after four decades of not knowing?”

Orisa smiled sympathetically. “That will take time. And sometimes it takes a catalyst. I think you’ve found it. That you are here is proof enough. With a desire to get to know yourself, to become a man who is defined by more than duty to his country, you’ll learn what it is that interests you. I have no doubt in my mind.”

He sighed. “Is that what you did?”

“Not exactly. I used the military to push me into the person I wished to be after I left it. I did not have the money to go through University, and the world experience I think was what gave me enough perspective to continue to pursue my goal tenaciously. This is your opportunity.” There was a soft chime from a clock in the hall, signalling the turn of an hour. “So, since we are out of time, your homework. You’ve got your worksheet on mindfulness, I’d like you to continue listening to group, and to consider a blog or journal. Also less mixing of alcohol and opiates.”

Gabriel nodded. “Right, right.”

“And… perhaps making a profile on a dating site.”

“I’m too old to date.”

“You absolutely are not. And I don’t mean for you to fill your time with dates, but I do mean to consider it a way of moving on from your ex.”

He’d seen that coming. Gabriel sighed, standing up with a noncommittal grunt, and picked up his papers. “Thank you, Dr. Oladele.”

“It’s Orisa,” she said in a sing-song voice. “What are your plans for the day?”

“Adopting a cat,” he said, limping to the door. “Jesse has decided we need a child for the house, and the Lindholm’s allow pets on our lease agreement.”

She snorted audibly, making him turn around. Orisa had her back to him, but her shoulders were shaking.

“What?”

“Maybe you don’t need the dating site.”

The back of his neck grew hot as he let himself out and went back to the reception area, which was devoid of life. McCree was waiting in the hallway beyond, studying the sign of the dentist’s office next door.

The sight of the man, and Orisa’s tease, made Gabriel pause a moment as the door swung closed behind him. There was a lump in his stomach and he fingered the handle of his cane while he looked at him. He wasn’t sure what the feeling was, exactly. Trust, loyalty. Something else. Something that almost reminded him of those golden days when he and Jack had had each other’s backs.

McCree turned to look at him, hat over his chest and a smile on his face. “Hey there, Captain. So how was she? Not bad?”

“Captain is as annoying as Jefe,” he said, the spell broken enough to let Gabriel walk forward and press the elevator button. 

“Guess I’ll just have to start calling you pumpkin or sugar pie then,” said Jesse, walking alongside him. “Or I can throw a diminutive on your name. How about Gabi? Oh, or a classic. Old Sport? Mother Hen?”

_ Nope, nevermind. The feeling is loathing, _ he thought as he rolled his eyes. “Orisa was fine. You did good recommending her to me.”

“I figured she would. I helped her and her little sister out of a bind once, and I figured her background would be a help.”

“She wants me to start a blog,” he said as the elevator chimed and the doors opened to reveal an empty lift. He knew better than to ask what he’d done for Orisa, Jesse was usually tight lipped about private contracts. “Have you ever run one before?”

“Nope,” said Jesse easily. “No idea about any of that stuff. Maybe you could write stories about us?”

Gabriel snorted. “You thinking a James Patterson sort of approach?”

“Nah. Detective stories!”

“1920’s prohibition, black and white, lots of dames and hard drinking in speakeasies?” 

“Or more classic. Agatha Christie types in Late Victorian or early Edwardian Era.”

Gabriel shook his head as the doors shut on the elevator. “I think the idea of a brilliant, eccentric detective in nineteenth century Britain getting followed around by a clueless soldier is a bit cliche, don’t you?”

“I guess we can stick with handsome genius Southerner and Grizzled Grumpy Gabriel the war veteran.”

“Fuck off.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed. Stay tuned :)


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